Mike Hammer's House
by GreatBigFreak
Summary: A series of drabbles, based off of lines from I, the Jury by Mickey Spillane. Rated for naughty language and allusions to m/m slash.


Title: Mike Hammer's House

Summary: Basically these are a collection of House M.D. Drabbles and Ficlets inspired by lines from Mickey Spillane's: I, the Jury

Notes: Saw this technique on LiveJournal, and am using it to get my brain going, and to start to learn how to write House fiction. The headings are the first available complete sentences of every ten pages in my Mickey Spillane omnibus, specifically sourced from the novel: I, the Jury. Why Mickey Spillane? Eh, it was the first thing I picked up off the bookshelf, and that was good enough for me. The lines from the novel are in italics and bold.

These drabbles bounce around in canon, and are character (not medically, I don't know near enough about it) driven. There will probably be some slashy allusions as well. Deal with it, and if you don't like it, read something else.

Reviews are most welcome, as is extended critique. If anybody wants to step up as a beta, that'd be fab, because I don't have one of those, and fly by the threadbare seat of my literary pants.

Disclaimer: I own nothing other than a 4th generation iPod Nano, and you'll have to pry that from my cold dead hands. All pop culture references come from my TV and internet soaked brain. Not that I watch much TV nowadays anyway... Other than House. House is good.

* * *

**10: _They drove straight up to Westchester, dropping Myrna off on the way._**

"By the way, thanks for dropping Thirteen off." House said as he and Wilson walked into his apartment.

"Well, I was so startled by you suggesting something nice for someone else that I really had no other logical choice but to help. Why did you ask me to do it anyways?" Wilson said.

"She got some heavy news not too long ago. Some days she's better than others. Today was not a good day, and I happened to notice it. That's all."

"Right" Wilson said, sounding like he didn't believe House in the slightest, but then in the same thought letting it go. House always had his reasons.

**20: _"Oh, for Pete's sake, we had a highball and went to bed."_**

"It was just a play House." Wilson said.

"Sure it was." House agreed sarcastically as he limped towards the coffee machine, red mug in hand. "You still want to see Cuddy naked. Or maybe you just wanted to make me jealous, and you really want to see _me_ naked."

"You know, for a straight man, you spend a lot of time talking about being gay."

"Oh come on, _James_! If you haven't figured it out by now, I swear, you are so not fit to be a doctor. Less fit than Cuddy, even." House said, using Wilson's first name for maximum effect. House always knew it would come out this way... A casual moment of routine frustration... And here it was, beautiful and horrible, and pretty much exactly how he pictured it happening. By the reflection in the coffee machine, House could see Wilson was sinking into a chair in the otherwise deserted conference room. House filled his mug without looking back at him.

"That better not be a joke, House." Wilson said quietly. House turned around, and then leaned on the counter while sipping at his coffee.

"You can always tell when I'm joking. Do I seem like I'm joking?" House asked. Wilson looked over at his friend and shook his head gently.

"No, you don't." He replied. "For once."

**30: _The doorman, for once conservatively dressed, opened the door of my car without wrinkling his mouth in disgust._**

It seems that hanging around with Wilson has its benefits. Associating with him makes people think better of me. Not that they should, mind you. They just do, and I am fully prepared to reap the benefits of their altered perceptions. I grab my cane and toss the valet the keys, and hobble out towards the doors of the restaurant. Technically I make the dress code, but only technically... I do it because I can, and because Wilson will forgive me, and perhaps a little because Cuddy won't.

They're already inside, waiting by the bar for me to limp my somewhat bedraggled carcass in, so that we can sit down with some potential new donors and pretend to be adults for a couple of hours. Frankly I'm still in amazement that she even tries to make me do these things. Everybody knows I do not play well with others, especially self important others with too much money to throw around.

But I know why she does it, and though it's terribly egotistical on my part, it's true. She wants to trot out the eccentric genius to show aforementioned self important people that they're making the right choice by giving their money to help fund my deranged practices, because they work. Wilson is here to counter balance my gruffness with his compassion and true want to help people... Or whatever self-help-like hippy label he's put on it lately. I find out after we're seated that he's also here to keep me muzzled as much as humanly possible.

Wilson sits beside me, and stomps on my sneaker whenever I'm about to say something that would be seen as incredibly insensitive. It doesn't mean that my interrupted observations aren't true, just that they would be perceived as rude by outsiders. Every time this happens I try not to wince and then think of something else to say, but I know I'm coming off as rather distracted. Cuddy fires me a glance as well, not quite knowing what's going on, only that something is. She'd be distracted too if she had Wilson's French shoes crushing her toes every time she tried to tell the truth.

But as a credit to Wilson's determination, by the time the check arrives, the new donors are no longer just potential, and are all smiles on top of that. They are feeling just so damn good about themselves because they're doing something nice for others. Also as a credit to his determination, I'm quite certain my little toe is now broken. He's so going to hear about this tomorrow morning when I make him tape up my busted toe, after deliberately not washing it for maximum stink. On the way out, my limp is heavier than usual, and I hear Cuddy murmur "T'was Wilson killed the beast." I huff and don't reply, because Wilson is right beside me, eyeing up my toe for another pre-emptive strike. Pain really is the great motivator I think, and then in the same moment I decided that I should invest in some steel-toed cross trainers.

**40: _He does her dirt and she tries to throw herself in front of a subway train. Some nice young jerk grabs her in time and makes a respectable woman out of her._**

"Cameron and Chase, sitting in a tree..." House sang softly, watching them leave for the day. He was on the balcony overlooking the lobby that lead in to the clinic, unnoticed by the couple. His cane hung on the railing, which his forearms were also perched on, as he leaned in an effort to look as idle as possible. He wondered if they missed having erratic hours and his abuse. Probably not he concluded. They learned a lot from him of course, but their lives would be fine without ever having to have a compulsive need to solve puzzles. _Good for them._ He thought.

"Ready to go?" Wilson asked, as he walked up beside House. He looked over at the friend he recently recovered. He smiles, but only slightly. Because he's so glad to have Wilson speaking to him again, but he doesn't want to admit it, for fear of losing him forever, and in no way does he want Wilson to know that.

**50: _Everything in order, I wiped the gun and shoved it under my arm._**

House had to destroy the evidence. He was sure he'd gotten Wilson this time, if only he could get rid of the evidence. He was headed to the hospital's incinerator with it wrapped up in a bed sheet. No one would notice the bed sheet missing, but Wilson was totally going to have a cow when he figured out what House had pilfered from him. He had a webcam set up in Wilson's office for the event, recording everything so House could e-mail the video randomly to Hospital staff members. Because really, he'd seen enough of Wilson's reactions to his immature pranks, what excited him now was the prospect of sharing those reactions with the world. Wilson could be the next fat kid with a light saber on YouTube.

One more floor, the elevator only had to get past the ground floor, and he would have pulled it off. Then, pure unhindered disaster struck with tsunami force. The door to the elevator opened, and House was confronted with Wilson, having finished up his clinic hours just that little bit early, and who was already raising an eyebrow at House and the draped object he was carrying.

"What's that?" Wilson asked.

"Uh, garbage... just going to get rid of it downstairs. I thought I'd save maintenance the trouble. Bio hazard you know. It's been around all these people with cancer, and you never know where they've been. I heard you can catch it from public toilet seats." House said, already knowing that his plan was foiled. Wilson smirked as he stepped on to the elevator, and pulled a familiar object out of the distended waist pocket of his lab coat.

"That's funny, because I was just doing the same thing." Wilson said, and tossed up a familiar looking ball, and caught it in his hand. House tried not to react, but Wilson being one step ahead of him both infuriated and delighted him in equal measure. "Give me the Vertigo poster, House... Or the ball gets it."

House let out a "Harrumph", rolled his eyes, and then held out the sheet draped mass for Wilson to take. Wilson continued to smirk and held out the ball. The exchange was quick, as if the other were expecting a psyche out and a sudden take back. "You don't understand. Your freak out could have been an internet meme, and it would have been awesome. Especially if some nerd had added light sabers." House said as the elevator doors opened in the basement, closed again without taking on anymore passengers, and then headed back up to the upper floors.

"And put the sheet back too. You think this place is made of money? How much do you waste in resources in a day, really?" Wilson asked as the doors opened on the main floors again, and this time the car took on more passengers.

"But mooooooooooom..." House whined and secretly took much joy in the startled looks of the people who'd just walked on to the elevator.

"Do it or there'll be no dessert for you tonight. I might have to send you to be without any supper, just to prove a point." Wilson said with a straight face and handed House the sheet.

"Ah, that's okay. It makes the effects of the Vicodin way better anyways. So there." House said. He crumpled the sheet up and tucked it under his arm.

"Make mother proud for once. Be a good boy and put the sheet back, House." Wilson said.

"Yes mom." House replied, and gave in to his laughter when everybody else on the elevator made a prompt escape on the second floor.

**60: _As I emptied the bottom drawer a tie caught and slipped over the back._**

Wilson did not need this right now. He was trying to make a quick escape, though to where he wasn't quite sure. But this was not helping the expediency with which he wanted to vanish from his home, and hopefully never return. "Discretion is the better part of valour, the better part of which has saved my life." He quoted to himself in order to justify his cowardly behaviour. Still there was the matter of the escapee tie now resting in the bottom of the chest of drawers, inaccessible other than by removing the heavy hardwood drawer, which would be entirely too noisy for the quiet exit he was hoping to accomplish.

But the tie was important to him. One of the few novelty ones he had, and it had been a gift from House... Wilson paused and sighed, and then set about carefully removing the drawer. It made a hell of a screech as he pulled it out further than it was intended to go. He felt rewarded with the blissful silence coming from the rest of the house. There were no stomping footsteps headed towards the bedroom. He reached back into the dark, awkward space, and felt around for the Daffy Duck tie that had a way of making both parents and children smile when he was wearing it. Even if he happened to be delivering the worst of news, they always got a bit of amusement out of the tie. Trust House of all people to provide a bit of levity in someone's darkest hour, even if he was completely unaware of it.

Wilson sighed again, threw the tie into his luggage, and crammed the drawer back into place because he knew he should. He wouldn't want his soon to be ex-wife to trip over it in the dark, even if she hated his guts at the moment. Because he didn't hate her, and he knew he never would. He just had to get the hell out right now.

**70: _I could slap it out of you. I could wreck this whole setup if I felt like it._**

House was not up for insubordination at the moment. And that was why Kutner had grabbed Thirteen and beat a hasty retreat for the lab. If they were going to get anywhere near an answer, they were just going to have to go ahead without House and Foreman hovering over them dragging out the differential. And he figured that so long as he kept himself well away from any charged paddles, that he couldn't get himself into that much trouble.

The worst possibility was getting fired, and unlike Taub, he didn't exactly _need_ this job. He just wanted it to learn as much as he could. And he had to figure that his job was pretty precarious already. His continued employment hinged on whether House could hold it together despite his habits and tendency for being an ass. The hospital rumour mill had some already legendary stories of House cheating utter disaster a few times now, and that sort of luck had to be a finite thing.

But Kutner had also perhaps read a little bit too much Hunter S. Thompson in high school. He was going to push this as far as he could, because there would never be another opportunity like it.

**80: _"Let's go over the gang here." I said._**

"Let's go over top of the gang here." I said. "Not like we need them anyways. We're doctors too, right?"

"Like that's ever stopped you before... And besides, I thought you considered them more minions than a gang." Wilson replied dryly.

"Every gang needs a leader. That's me. Foreman's the muscle. Cameron's the girl, and Chase is... Come to think of it, what _is_ Chase?" I said and thought a moment. "Ah ha! He's the quiet religious guy that ends up going crazy and singing like a canary to the feds."

"He already is crazy House. Working for you should be proof enough of that."

"And he's already turned me in a few times. Why are we arguing over semantics? Let's run the tests on our own before they get back here. There's a life to save, you know." I said and grabbed my cane. I'm up and out of the chair and on my way out of my office, knowing that a slightly bewildered Wilson will follow me down to the patient's room and then on to the lab even at this late hour. It's good to have a friend, though I'll never tell him that.

**90: _Jack was soft-hearted, but not when it came to a thing like that._**

Though it remains on the list of the many things I will never admit, I admire how Wilson can tell people they're dying, remain straight faced, and do it day after day with the same care he took of his first patient who was terminal. He can look compassionate, and yet still be quite ruthless as he lays out the bare facts of a person's diagnosis in layman's terms that they can understand. And he does it without coming right out and saying: "You're fucking dead already." When you think about that, it's pretty damn impressive. Oscar worthy, maybe, for sustained performance alone anyway.

**100: _Poor girl, it's the least I can do for her._**

"She's just got to see reason is all." Wilson said to me. "Though _how_ you'll do that is- "

So I kiss Wilson. Hard. I shove him up against the glass wall between my office and the meeting room in the middle of the day, and kiss him breathless. His suit jacket probably looking like a bug spattered on a windshield on the other side of the glass where Cameron is seated alone at the conference table. I managed to open an eye, looking for a place to drop my cane, and catch her flabbergasted expression. I drop the cane to the side, and then take the back of Wilson's head in my hand, making sure he's not going anywhere for a moment. Despite obvious handicaps, I'm taller than he is, and I have the leverage advantage. That is unless he decides to do a judo throw and put my ass on the floor.

But to my surprise, Wilson isn't trying to push me off or pull me down. Actually, he seems into it... and oh fuck, is that his tongue playing at my teeth?

Good goddamn, it is.

Still, I'm committed to this, and let his tongue work its way into my mouth. I need Cameron to stop thinking I am a lonely wounded bird with a broken wing she can heal with the power of true love. She can't love me, and not because of something stupid like me thinking I don't deserve love. It's because she doesn't deserve to throw her love away on an ass like me who will never return it. No matter how attractive her love and care might seem to world weary souls, I can't accept it. She's got her whole life ahead of her to fuck up by falling in love with wounded birds. And really, all I want is to have no part in enabling her pathology.

With Wilson it's different. I don't see this as taking advantage, because Wilson chose to hang around me. I didn't hire him, or manipulate him, or have any kind of power over him. If anything I tried to push him away initially. So this kind of collateral damage is all his doing, because he knew what he was getting into with eyes wide open. I take the opportunity to hammer the final nail in the coffin, and reach down and grab a handful of Wilson's ass. That's when Cameron gets up, pulls the blinds, and leaves the conference room.

Wilson doesn't notice, and wraps an arm around me to hold me close even though I'm already trying to break away. Our lips part, but I still have a hold of him as well, and my body doesn't want to seem to go anywhere. Though my cane lying on the floor out of reach probably has quite a lot do with my lack of motivation to get the hell out of Dodge. We're both panting, and Wilson's got that dopey smile on his face and impish look in his eyes, and I'm left in the stunning realization that this seems to be what Wilson has waited better than a decade for me to do. Well, this is going to be fucking awkward. Especially since I'm only now realizing just how satisfying that kiss was, and that the only thing I want out of life is more of them.

Yup, gonna be awkward.

**110: _I pulled up my shirt to confirm it, and then got dressed._**

Another scar... Just what he wanted, really. It was right at the top of his Christmas wish list this year, but he was so certain that it would have been Wilson to finally cave and get it for him. House shook his head, and went to his disorganized bedroom closet to find clothing for the day. He couldn't even resist sarcasm in his train of thought. Most other people would take being shot as a sign to feel lucky to be alive. But not Gregory House. He was made of sterner stuff. He could out miserable Scrooge... Which really wasn't hard given the fact that Ebenezer gave into redemption in the end. "Ha, take that Scrooge!" He cried to the empty bedroom, just to prove how strange he was, and how little this new scar could actually change him.

**120: _She started to laugh, but tears came into her eyes and she pushed her face against my shoulder._**

I hate it when women cry. I really fucking hate it when women cry. It's emotional blackmail. They shed a few tears and anything with testicles within ten miles will trip over themselves to make it all better... Or just to make it stop, depending on what their motives are. Mine are to make it stop.

So when I found Cuddy in her mostly darkened office late at night, I was simply going to take the opportunity to rag on her for nothing in particular. Instead, I found her seated behind her desk, tissue in hand blowing her nose with reddened eyes. There was an awkward silence when she looked up at me and my perturbed expression. As a typical woman in this moment, she didn't even bother to try and hide her tears.

"What do you want, House?"

"I was going to request a subscription for my favourite porn site for the office, actually. Can't seem to get through the day without it anymore, and I figured it would be somewhat more morally upright than sneaking down and watching preps for mammograms. Women are so fussy when unshaven strangers with canes want to look at their breasts." I said. She glared at me, which was good. Her anger would slow up the tears. But to my surprise she stood up, and a slow smile spread across her face, but a sob still escaped her.

Despite her emotional duress, she walked around the desk towards me without any hesitation. And the next thing I knew, she was leaning on me laughing and crying, and getting her mascara on my vintage t-shirt. "Hey hey, easy on the goods." I mutter, but she's not going anywhere. My body stiffens instinctually, as it always does when someone grabs on to me. My balance isn't so good depending on my pain level, and another body hanging off of me is small help in that situation. Even less if that person is wearing spike heels.

"I lost a pregnancy." Cuddy whispers as she suppresses her sobs for a moment. "So just shut up, hold on to me for a little while, and tell nobody about this."

"How much clinic duty can I have off if I do?" I asked. "No reason we both shouldn't get something out of this. Better yet, can I get access to that porn site in the office?"

"A week, and I'll be long dead in the cold ground before you get free porn." She said. I shrug, relax a little, and bring an arm around her.

"I'll take it." I said, and then caught the scent of her dark hair as it shimmered in the low light. Her body was soft and warm against mine, despite my wet shirt rapidly cooling my shoulder. I decide to take the high road for once, and pull her a little closer. "That really sucks." I whispered, and was already thinking about how I could use this to my advantage later.

"Yeah, it does." She replied, her tears still being sopped up by my shirt.

**130: _"I don' see nobody boss."_**

"Kutner! Play lookout for Cuddy and Wilson." I barked as I entered the patient's room.

"Why do I have to play lookout?" He asked, looking like a kid who's been told to be the time keeper in a playground game of soccer. Clearly he'd been looking forward to being in on the action for some controversial medicine, and I really didn't have time for his hangdog response.

"Because you can run the fastest in order to alert us that someone is coming. Can you picture Taub trying to run down the hallway to tell us to cover up the evidence in those shoes? It'd be a disaster worthy of the America's Next Top Model runway blooper reel. Why do I have to explain everything to you people?" I asked, and closed the door behind me, leaving Kutner to trudge back up the hall.

**140: _I know all the angles._**

"Hey, Voldemort! Got a minute?"

House had finally been left alone by his team and Wilson for the evening, and the rehab wing's meeting room was deserted, save for staff. Rehab tended to make for early nights for most people he figured. It was just before Voldemort left to go home for the evening.

"So, Voldy, what really motivates you?" House asked him, a glint in his eye. "What makes you really want to please people?"

"Nothing" He grumbled back. "Money, maybe."

"Money... A sensible answer. I can work with that." House said, thinking about his next fix and secretly screwing it to Tritter. Desire for money was way easier to deal with than say, desire for anal stimulation or desire to stimulate an anus for that matter.

_-Fin_


End file.
